Greenacre Writers Literary Festival: A personal perspective.

My day's itinerary for preparations for the Greenacre Writers Literary Festival was worked out to the minute. Boxes were lined up for transportation, lists were written and laminated so what could possibly go wrong? Waking up on Friday morning with a violent headache and the room spinning - that's what! I'll spare you details but it wasn't anything catching.

But somehow I managed the shopping with the help and support of staff at Finchley's Waitrose, printed the signs (in a bit of a haze) and helpers stepped into the breach while I had a bit of down-time so co-organizer, Rosie Canning, was able to get the second Greenacre Literary Festival off to a great start.

By the time I arrived at Friern Barnet Community Library on Friday 17th, pale but not very interesting, Miriam Halahmy's writing workshop was closing and the tables and chairs were being re-organized ready for the Open Mic.

Allen Ashley did a great job in hosting a variety of writers from all over London, one from Bristol and one from USA who read poems, flash fiction, non-fiction and extracts from novels. Lyrical, stark, humorous and serious, different styles and all sorts of themes. I loved the sheer variety - our readers ranged from those in their 20s to 70s, from writers who have lived all their lives in Finchley to those who have fled their countries of origin to avoid persecution. We all had our stories. And we all listened and learned.

And just for the record, I had gone an entire day without coffee.

Saturday dawned and I felt a little more human, as today's headache was of a lesser variety and no doubt mostly because of caffeine withdrawal and enforced starvation. By eleven o'clock Trinity Church Centre was transformed into a venue fit to host our second workshop led by Dr Josie Pearse, and the Main Event. Two hours later, with help from our Greenacre members and supporters, Rosie and I were ready to welcome our four guest authors.

CJ Flood, Gina Blaxill, Leigh Russell and Sarah Harrison fulfilled all our hopes and expectations by being entertaining and informative speakers. They all wove the festival's theme of truth and fiction into their talks and readings.

Reading about my heroine's opinion
 of scary stomach-squashing-in pants.
Photo: Emily Benet.

I was one of seven Greenacre Writers to read. There is always the dilemma of what to read. At the open Mic I'd read  a serious flash fiction relating to Mental Health Awareness week so I decided it should be '...and now for completely different...' and read the opening paragraphs of my WIP 'Do Not Exceed Fifty' chick-lit for the older woman, OK, the menopausal woman.

To my relief it went down well. As for the lady who asked, 'can I buy your book here?' it was all I could do not to fling my arms around her and have 'Lindsay's No 1 fan' tattooed on her forehead. For a few minutes I felt just a little bit famous.

But mine was only one of many readings. Rosie Canning, Liz Goes, Linda Louisa Dell, Mark Kitchenham, Mumpuni Murniati and Wendy Shillam showcased their work too, which, as at the Open Mic, explored a variety of styles and subjects. We may not yet be the million-book bestsellers that our invited guests are, but just watch this space.

The day rounded off with a panel, facilitated by Allen Ashley with Sarah Harrison, Leigh Russell, Dr Josie Pearse and Alex Wheatle, one of our fantastic speakers from last year's festival, exploring further the theme of truth and fiction. Whether a reader or a reader/writer, much was to be learned from those who have spent many years writing and perfecting their writing.

As I gave the final thanks, I felt very proud of Greenacre Writers - not only are we developing our writing skills, we have a huge talent for inviting wonderful authors who have been very generous in their support of a small festival. (Two other speakers from last year were in the audience: Emily Benet and Andrew Bradford.) But it was co-organiser Rosie Canning who got in the last word and presented me with a lovely surprise of a beautiful bouquet of flowers. And of course our GWs hadn't forgotten one for Rosie too.

Now I'm enjoying a couple of days off and guess what, I'm reading four books at once as inevitably I've started Sarah Harrison's The Flowers of the Field, Leigh Russell's Cut Short. CJ Flood's Infinite Sky and Gina Blaxill's Pretty Twisted. Oh, and yes I must re-read fellow writers' excerpts for this evening's Finish That Novel 2 meeting. And note to self  'I must Finish That Novel.'

The official and more objective account with lots more pictures can be found at www.greenacrewriters.blogspot.co.uk

For a really detailed account, read Morgen Bailey

Launch of Greenacre Writers Anthology Vol 2.

You can get good coffee and yummy cakes in Cafe Buzz in North Finchley (and lots more) but today customers had a literary feast too. Ten members of Finchley's Greenacre Writers read flash fiction and extracts of their stories published in the second volume of The Greenacre Writers Anthology.

Amy receives her copy of the anthology

The anthology features the top six stories from our short story competition last year and we were delighted that one of our runners up, Amy Flinders, was able to attend the launch to receive her prize of a copy of the anthology.

Twelve stories and two poems from Greenacre Writers are also included, showing the diverse styles of our members. If you would like to buy a copy go to Greenacre Writers

Taking a break from readings for chatting and a top up of coffee.

The atmosphere was great and Cafe Buzz owner, Helen Michael, said she hoped to hold more readings, so watch this space.

Cafe Buzz is at 783 High Road, North Finchley, N12 8JY.

A book related month

Today I picked up my box of World Book Night books: 20 copies of Sebastian Barry's The Secret Scripture. These will be distributed to people who either can't readily access books or tend not to read and so are missing out on the opportunity to discover new and different realities. Like all other WBN givers, I hope to enable people to try reading something new and perhaps to develop a love for reading.

Reading can help people through difficult and dark times - CS Lewis' quote: 'We read to know we are not alone,' sums it up. Reading can help educate - take just the first four words of that quote and that says it all. Reading can enable us to gain knowledge, form opinions and open up our world. Reading can take us anywhere in the world and out of it too. What else can do that?

In a couple of weeks time I'll be celebrating the launch of Greenacre Writers second anthology, which contains 18 short stories and, in the spirit of all the WBN books, 2 poems as well.  Join other members of Greenacre Writers and me at Cafe Buzz, on Sunday 28th April at 3.00pm to hear some of the authors reading brief extracts and buy a copy or two. Cafe Buzz, 783 High Road, North Finchley, N12 8JY.

Then to round off a literary month, on 17th and 18th May we'll be holding the second Greenacre Writers Literary Festival. Do join us.

Greenacre Writers Literary Festival 2013

These are the books I bought at last year's Greenacre Writers Mini Literary Festival. They were all great reads so I know I'm going to be adding to my library in May at this year's not so Mini Literary Festival with another great line up of authors.

Greenacre Writers is based in Finchley, North London which up till now doesn't feature hugely in literature. While it may not feature in many novels, I can attest that there is some great writing happening in Finchley and let's not forget that Dickens apparently wrote Martin Chuzzlewit here in Bow Lane and that Mr Garland, one of his characters in The Old Curiosity Shop, lives in Finchley. One of our invited speakers is a local author and Finchley gets a mention in one of her books too so here's to putting Finchley on the literary map.

For information on the forthcoming festival see Greenacre Writers Literary Festival 2013

World Book Night 2013

Today 20,000 readers are excited about April 23rd. They have been selected to give away a million books. Each will give out 20 of their selected title from a list of 20.

I'm lucky enough to have been selected for the third year and this year I'll be giving out The Secret Scripture by Sebastian Barry.

These books are for people who don't read, for people who can't easily get hold of books. If you are homeless, in a mental health unit, in a care home or in prison accessing books can be hard, so many books are distributed in such locations.

But it's not only about those who cannot access books. There are people who could, but don't. The National Literacy Trust claims that  a third of UK's children do not have books of their own. When I worked with children with speech and language problems, I discovered the grim reality of this for myself, and sadly, homes without books are on the increase. Children without books are likely to have parents without books and WBN aims to help rectify this.

In WBN's first year I gave away Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance, and last year Marcus Zusack's The Book Thief.  Some of my books went to Homeless in Action Barnet, some to North London Hospice and some to patients and staff at Chase Farm Hospital. Some were donated to Friern Barnet Community Library, the People's Library that is stocked with books donated by locals. If they don't already have a copy of The Secret Scripture, that will be the destination of one or two of my copies on April 23rd.

Finding Timbuktu

Lindsay in Timbuktu

I wrote a little section of my first novel in Timbuktu...but this is a little travel piece about my journey to that far off city.

Timbuktu hit international headlines in March 2012 with news of a coup led by the (MNLA) National Movement for the Liberation of Asawad, the northern territory of Mali. The Tuareg have sought independence for this region since 1916 and now, achieving their aim, they declared independence in April 2012 although it was not recognized nationally or internationally. In July 2012, they lost control when the extremist Islamist group, MOJWA, invaded Timbuktu who have since destroyed many of the city's shrines and many of its treasured academic manuscripts. Peace in Timbuktu has long been fragile but for a few years, the fabled city was attainable.


Spotting the word ‘Timbuktu’ in my atlas was a revelation. I’d always thought it was a mythical city, so on my discovery at the age of 12, I determined that one day I would go there. Never mind that it seemed utterly inaccessible, nestled in the southern Sahara Desert, somehow I would find Timbuktu.

Djenne's Mosque and Monday market

It was forty years before I made the journey! From Mali’s capital Bamako, a small group of us travelled by road via Ségou to Djenné. An overnight stop here enabled us to see the famous Great Mosque, the world’s largest dried earth building and enjoy the vibrant Monday market. People travelled from miles away for the weekly market, selling and buying everything the Malian household could need. A spectacle of colour, we found dried gourds, woven baskets, gaudy plastic bowls and metal cooking pots alongside brooms made from leaves. Racks of patterned fabrics nestled against piles of every grain, spice, fruit and vegetable that Mali can offer.

We stuffed ourselves with delicious fried plantain and sugared dough balls from the market stalls, not worrying too much that the oil used for frying them looked as if it had been drained from the engine of an old bus. We stocked up on fruit for later.

Children approached us to ask where we were from.
‘England, Angleterre.’
‘Beckham!’ they replied kicking imaginary footballs.

On the road again we made a detour to Sangha and Dogon Country, where we spent a few fascinating days, and then doubled back to Mopti where the real purpose for my journey began.

Our home for three days

Pushing our way through the bustling crowds we found our home for the next three days waiting at the water’s edge with its crew of three and most importantly, our cook. We chugged off up the Niger in our pinasse, one among countless river craft: motorized barges piled with goods, sailing boats with voluminous patched sails, pirogues shunted by pole through the shallow waters, and the small boats of the Bozo fishermen. We passed villages where life took place at the river’s edge. Women washed clothes or pots and pans, young children played and swam, older ones led cattle to the water and everyone waved and greeted us, ‘Ca va?’

As the sun began to sink, our crew steered the pinasse to the banks of the river to moor it for the night. Down the precariously narrow gangplank we carried our tents, folding chairs, cooking utensils, oil lamps and, not to be forgotten, the shovel! (‘What did you do about a loo?’ I would be asked by people who couldn’t understand the concept of camping in a tent that doesn’t have rooms. ‘A handy dune and a shovel’.) By the time we had got our tents up, the sun had disappeared leaving a warm velvety darkness. Our cook produced a delicious meal from very few ingredients, followed by fresh fruit we had bought at one of the villages.

A billion stars shone overhead and I saw the bright arc of a shooting star. I fell asleep to the insistent croaking of bullfrogs.

Next day back on the river was much the same but there wasn’t a moment of boredom. Life on the banks of the Niger is vibrant, intense and ever changing. On board we sat three abreast with a plank table in front of us (one converting to the gangplank, the others to our campsite dining table) and here the only way to the loo - no shovel required - was an inelegant scramble on to the edge of the boat and shuffling along the six inch wide plank to the stern while hanging on to the roof for all you were worth if you wanted to avoid a dip in the water.

Cook bought supper’s main ingredient - two large Capitaine fish from a passing fisherman. A few hours later he produced yet another delectable evening meal as we pitched our tents for a second night beneath the eerie light of the enormous pale moon.

By mid afternoon of our third day on the Niger, the scenery became less green and more desert for we were now in the Sahel. We had seen hippos in the river and now spotted camels on the shore.

Disembarking was a transformation from the quiet lull of river travel to the bustle of the busy little port of Korioume. Transferring to battered Land Cruisers we drove through desert scrub. As buildings came into view we met three haughty Tuareg, immaculately dressed in sky-blue  robes, riding their camels at a smart gallop. We had arrived in Timbuktu.

Making my way down the main street, its sand pitted with tyre tracks and a thousand footprints that would be obliterated by morning, Timbuktu, fabled city of 333 saints, was everything I had dreamed of. It is not as grand as colonial Ségou - not as splendid as Djenné - not as colourful as busy Mopti - but is simply Timbuktu, a place of legend and the rich imaginings of a twelve year old, who forty years on, had achieved her dream.

The art of coping with the critique.

The best writers are those who listen to criticism. It’s not always easy to offer our work up to the scrutiny of others. Some of their comments may be balm to our ears and ego but others will make us want to throw our work out of the window and go on a bender or hide under the duvet.

I choose the second option but when I eventually crawl out from under the duvet, I take a deep breath, examine my work against the points my critics have made and start editing.

I’ve been involved with a number of critique forums in one form or another and have found the weakest writers tend to be those who argue when someone makes a comment they don’t like and defend their work so furiously they don’t hear what is said. Their work tends not to develop.

Having said that, not everyone is an ideal critic for a particular writer. Stephen King talked about the importance of finding one’s ideal readers. We all have our own style, which isn’t going to please everyone. Some will condemn the very thing that others admire.

Being a good critic is an art in itself, but however objective we try to be, we are influenced by our preferences. Writers write differently, and readers read differently. As a reader, I don’t demand loads of back-story or endless detail, so I tend not to write it, but many readers want this and they tend to be my harsher critics. They may not be my ideal readers but they make useful comments for me to think about.

I admit my work has sometimes invited criticism of glitches so conspicuous, I’m embarrassed to think I wrote them and rewrite immediately. But sometimes I stick to my metaphorical guns and don’t alter a thing, although not without considering the points raised. I once received some searing remarks on a rejected flash fiction piece, decided against any changes and sent it off again to have it shortlisted in a competition.

I recently read some work from my early writing days. It has improved thanks to those critics, so I say thank you for the support even if some of your remarks led to my duvet and me becoming too well acquainted.